The Rotter and the Governess
by Jennifer Lee
Summary: A follow-up to the "realistic" ending of "Precious Things." A year after the trip to Alexandria, Margaret and Jonathan begin to see each other in a new light. If you liked the "happy" ending, you may hate this. But then again, you may not.
1. Author's Note

Author's Note:

Author's Note:

This is all ellbee's fault. She's been a faithful friend and guinea pig, reading "Precious Things" as I wrote, telling me if something didn't work. Well, when it was done, I mentioned to her that in the "realistic ending," I envisioned Margaret eventually ending up with Jonathan. She wondered how I saw that happening, so in a series of emails, I defined the moment where they would look at each other differently. Maybe while they were dancing…

That little idea, and the first few paragraphs of this story, were in my head when I woke up on the morning of September 11th. After a dazed twelve hours of watching horrifying images on the news, I turned to my computer, and started writing this fluff. It was fun, it was sweet, and it took my mind off of everything happening in the world. I needed it.

A word about the writing. I wrote the first story, "The Dance," myself. Ellbee helped me figure out little plot twists, and then I wrote "Assumptions" and "Proposals" myself too. Then ellbee stepped in, and we sort of tag-team wrote "The Great Hair Debacle" and "The Rotter and the Governess," although the bulk of those two stories (which is actually one long story) was written by ellbee.

We were writing just for us, and had no intention of posting it. But we had such a blast writing this, and getting to spend time with Jonathan made us both smile and laugh at a time when we really needed it. So I thought I'd share it, and maybe some other people will smile too. 

Standard disclaimers apply, of course. I'm poor and own nothing associated with "The Mummy" or "The Mummy Returns." Margaret Crane is my own character.

As always, thanks for reading. Hope you like it.

-jen


	2. Part One-- The Dance

"The Dance"

"The Dance" 

Margaret sat in her favorite armchair with a blanket over her legs by the fire in the sitting room. Knitting abandoned for the night, she was rereading "Pride and Prejudice" instead. She was so engrossed in Mr. Darcy's letter to Lizzie that it took her a few moments to notice that Jonathan was sitting on the ottoman, gazing at her. She raised her eyebrows at him over the top of her book.

"Yes?"

"Margaret, darling, have I ever told you how beautiful you are by firelight?"

She pursed her lips, trying to look disapproving but not succeeding. "What do you want, Jonathan?"

He pressed a hand to his heart. "Margaret, you wound me! Can't I simply pay you a compliment without ulterior--"

"What do you want, Jonathan?" she repeated, closing the book and marking the place with her index finger. But she was smiling, and he smiled back.

"Well, then, yes, since you put it that way," he said, "I'd like to ask you for a favor." Margaret said nothing, but raised her eyebrows for him to continue. "Allow me to take you out this Saturday night. You do so much for this family; it would be my pleasure to make some small attempt to show our appreciation. You shouldn't be spending your nights reading in front of the fire. Pretty thing like you, you should be out on the town, dining and dancing--"

Margaret held up a hand, stopping him before he burst into song. "Who canceled on you?" she asked. Jonathan's mouth sagged open, and he tried to look offended. "Who?" she persisted, before he could protest.

Jonathan looked a little defeated, but the twinkle in his eye told her that he wasn't upset. "All right, fine, if you persist with all these questions," he said. "It was Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?" Margaret repeated. "Elizabeth Randall?" Jonathan nodded. "But isn't she getting married?"

He nodded. "On Saturday. That's why she canceled." He had the grace to look at least a little shamefaced.

Now Margaret laughed outright. "Jonathan," she finally said when she could speak again. "Are you ever going to grow up? Settle down like a normal person?"

He shrugged. "Probably not. I'm keeping you company, after all, aren't I? Bachelor uncle and spinster aunt. We're a matched set, you and I." A small cloud came into her gray eyes, and Jonathan could see that his jesting had gone just a little too far. It had been nearly a year since their ill-fated trip to Alexandria, and while in many respects Margaret had appeared to have recovered from her heartbreak, sometimes it still hurt.

Jonathan leaned forward on the ottoman, hugging her blanket-covered knees. "Come on, love," he said. "I have reservations at a very exclusive club, and they shouldn't go to waste. It'll be a very good dinner and a little fun. I promise not to embarrass you. Say you will, come on."

She tilted her head, considering. "Well, I was having tea with the Queen that day, but I'm sure she won't mind if I reschedule."

"Perfect!" He dropped a kiss on her knees and stood to go. Margaret shook her head with a smile and opened her book again.

***

Jonathan stood in the entryway, fiddling with his cufflinks, which didn't want to close properly. Satisfied with them at last, he turned to the mirror to work on his bowtie. Damned thing never wanted to lie straight; it was always crooked.

"Meg!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Are you about ready?"

"Yes, yes." Her voice was much nearer than he had expected, making him jump. "You needn't shout, I'm right here. Got your tie on right?" She was standing just behind him now, her reflection visible just over his right shoulder. He shifted his gaze from his bowtie to his sister-in-law and froze on the spot.

Pink. Her dress was pink. But not a bright, nauseating pink. Soft pink, like an impassioned blush on a gentlewoman's cheek. And the dress itself… Jonathan remembered the blue number she had worn to that fancy-dress party in Alexandria; in fact, he remembered it very fondly. This one wasn't as formal, but to Jonathan's mind it was a thousand times more breathtaking. The neckline curved around her shoulders, leaving them bare, and scooped down just a little in the front, but not too much. Her hair was up, but not in that awful schoolteacher bun she usually insisted on wearing; now her hair was curled and piled on top of her head in some impossible-looking manner. Jonathan never understood how women were able to defy gravity like that; there should be a thousand pins holding her curls up like that, yet he couldn't see a single one. Two of spring's first roses, cream-colored ones edged in pink, had been taken out of the garden and threaded into those curls.

After a few moments Jonathan blinked, feeling as though he'd been staring like a schoolboy. "You look fantastic," he finally said.

She blushed a little, her skin turning almost the same color as the dress, and Jonathan felt his heart speed up. She looked down, smoothing her skirt over her hips and shaking it out a little. "D'you think?" she finally said. "Evy said the color suited me, but I thought it was a little plain."

"No," Jonathan answered quickly, not turning around yet, still talking to Margaret's reflection. "It's not plain at all, believe me. You're beautiful."

She looked up then and smiled. He had spoken plainly, honestly, without a trace of jocularity. "Thank you," she answered, just as simply. She stepped closer to him then, laying a hand on his shoulder and turning him around. "Let's just get this tie right." He dutifully looked up, pointing his chin towards the ceiling as she straightened his tie. She wasn't much better at it than he was, but after a few moments she sighed in satisfaction. "There." She patted the lapel of his jacket, indicating that she was finished. They both turned so they were facing the mirror again.

"A more handsome couple was never seen," Jonathan said with a grin. "Shall we go?"

***

The Diamond Club was the most incredible place Margaret had ever seen. On the way there, Jonathan had explained that he had gotten these reservations months in advance, long before Elizabeth had had the audacity to go and get engaged. And while the crystal chandeliers inside weren't actually made of diamonds, they certainly sparkled as though they were. Everything sparkled, from the chandeliers to the glasses and silverware on the table. 

Margaret opened the menu and was surprised to see that it was entirely in French. When the waiter arrived, she opened her mouth to ask Jonathan if he wanted her to order for them. Before she could speak, he did, ordering not only a fantastic meal for the both of them but also a bottle of champagne in effortless French. It was all she could do not to gape openly at him as the waiter departed.

"Since when do you speak French?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't. I can order off a menu, and say a few pleasantries, but that's about it, really. It's worth the effort, though. You get better champagne that way," he confided with a wink. Margaret chuckled.

The meal was, as she had suspected, fantastic. While they ate, they chatted about inconsequential things, and often ended up on one of their favorite subjects, Alex. He was starting boarding school in the fall, and alternated between excitement and terror. For the most part, the conversation was as light as the champagne they shared.

After a time, Margaret set down her fork, patting her mouth with the linen napkin. "You never did answer my question the other day, you know."

"What was that?"

She set her napkin down beside her plate. "Do you think you'll ever settle down? Get married?"

Jonathan let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, no. That is too serious a question for a night like this. And that tells me that you have not yet had enough champagne." Before Margaret could protest, he refilled her glass. She took it back with a smile.

"You're not getting off that easy," she said, taking a sip. "Do you mean to tell me that with all of the women you've been out with, you still haven't found the right one?"

He shrugged, refilling his own glass. "I guess not." He studied the glass very carefully, following the trails of bubbles in the liquid with his eyes. When he spoke again his voice was pitched lower, more serious, a tone that Margaret very rarely heard him use. "Women just don't seem to be interested in me."

"What?" Margaret looked at him like he'd suddenly sprouted horns. If it weren't for the very serious look on his face, she would have laughed. But she didn't laugh. She just looked at him in confusion. "You, who go out with a different girl every week? You want me to believe that none of them are interested in you?"

He nodded slowly, still studying his glass. "A different one every week," he repeated. "But none of them stay, do they? They either get bored with me or I get bored with them." He sat back in his chair, bringing the champagne flute to his lips for a sip. "Sometimes she'll come right out and say that she's interested in my fortune alone. And that's fun for the first few days, you know-- we go out to posh places like this, drink lots of expensive champagne. But eventually, I realize I'm bored to tears. She doesn't want to know the first thing about me, besides how much money I've got. Or on the other side of the coin, she'll pretend to be interested in who I am, which is great, at first. Those are the ones I'll bring home to dinner, or take to the theatre. But then I always find out later that it's really the money again, and I've been boring her all along. Either way, one of us ends up bored, and then it's on to the next one." He sighed. "I find myself rather envying Evy, you know?"

Margaret cocked an eyebrow. "You'd like a nice husband like Rick?"

Jonathan started violently, nearly spitting champagne across the table. After a few moments of sputtering and coughing, he tried to glare at her, but found it difficult to do while laughing. "Cheeky," he scolded. Margaret did her best to look contrite, but was giggling too much to be successful.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking a couple of deep breaths to stop her laughter. She reacted to Jonathan's dubious look. "No, really, I am. Please, tell me. Why do you envy Evelyn?" She took another healthy swallow of champagne and tried to keep a straight face.

He still scowled at her. "I don't know that I want to tell you anymore." He regarded her for another moment or two, then dropped his eyes back his glass. "She's so happy," he finally said, his voice quiet again. "She has two of the most wonderful children in the world--"

"That she does," Margaret agreed, and Jonathan glanced up at her with a smile. That was one thing they agreed upon passionately: they both adored their niece and nephew.

"She has a calling in life that she truly enjoys, and she has respect. And she has someone to share her life with." He sighed, the smile gone from his face. "I have none of those things. No home of my own, no direction. I'm completely alone."

Margaret made a clucking sound with her tongue, dismissing his last comment with a wave. "Nonsense. You have a lovely home. I should know-- I live there too. And you have a family who loves you very much."

"I know that," he said. "But sometimes I feel more like a hanger-on. An afterthought. It's the O'Connell Family. And Jonathan."

"And Margaret," she said quietly. He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. She had a thoughtful look on her face. "I know what you mean," she said. "They're wonderful, of course, and I'm so grateful to Rick and Evelyn for taking me into their family the way they did. But we're sort of on the outside, aren't we? The extra members of the family?"

He nodded emphatically. "That's it exactly." Her head bobbed in echoed agreement. Then she reached across the table with a smile.

"You've become far too morose," she said, picking up the champagne bottle. "I think you've had enough champagne for one night."

"Impossible!" he replied, wresting the bottle back from her. He sloshed the bottle gently, checking its level. "There's still some left. But I think what I _do_ need--" he said, nestling the bottle securely back into the ice bucket, "--is a dance. What do you say?"

Margaret was not smiling now. Her eyes were as big as saucers, and she shook her head. "Oh, no. Not with me." She looked around, as if another dance partner for Jonathan would materialize with the dessert cart.

"Of course, with you!" he laughed. "Who else?" He watched her eyes dart from him to the slightly crowded dance floor, noting the panic that seemed to grow in her face. "Oh, come on," he said. "I won't step on your feet too many times, I promise."

She shook her head again with a nervous laugh. "I'm more afraid of stepping on yours."

"Don't be silly. Surely you--" His voice trailed off as realization dawned. "You don't know how, do you?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head again. "It wasn't exactly something the nuns at the orphanage were dying to teach in school."

"Well, then." He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. "It's high time you learned." He extended a hand. "Come on, we'll start off easy."

Margaret looked around the room again, looking once more for that phantom replacement dance partner. She looked back up at Jonathan, who was still holding a hand out to her. "You're going to make me do this, aren't you?" she asked.

He nodded. She sighed.

"All right," she said, taking his hand and getting to her feet. She looked around nervously as he led her to the dance floor. She watched the other couples glide effortlessly across the floor, and her confidence failed. She tried to pull her hand away, but Jonathan held it fast.

"Come on, it's going to be fine." His voice was low and soothing, calming her as if she were a spooked horse. He smiled as the music changed. "Perfect. Waltzes are easy. Come on." He stopped at the edge of the floor and turned her around to face him.

"Now," he said. "Left hand on my shoulder, like this…" His instructions were very quiet, so not even the people dancing nearby could hear him speak. He stepped in a little closer, placing a hand at the small of her back, and taking her right hand in his. Quickly, he explained the concept of the waltz, standing still with her until he could see she understood the rhythm of the dance. Once he saw her head move gently in time with the music, and saw a smile of understanding come into her eyes, he started to move. She gave a small gasp of surprise at the first few steps, but seemed to catch on fairly quickly. He looked down at her, smiling as he saw the nervousness in her face give way to joy. He could practically feel the tension melting out of her body, and her grip on his shoulder relaxed. 

Her eyes flew up to his, and she smiled, the eager smile of a child who has learned something new. "I think I've got it!"

"I think you do," Jonathan would have answered, except that Margaret chose that very moment to misstep, and land squarely on his foot. She jumped back, startled at his wince.

"Oh, no! Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you? Oh, Jonathan, I told you this was a bad--"

"Hush," he said, pulling her back towards him again. "I've had worse. And you're not getting out of it that easily."

She tried to look disappointed. "So I have to step on your feet a few more times?"

"I'm afraid so. And no fair doing it on purpose, either," he said, shaking a finger at her.

She sighed in mock resignation. "All right then," she said, allowing Jonathan to pull her back into his arms. But she stood stock-still at first, listening to the music and trying to regain the rhythm. "Hang on, I've lost it."

"It's easy, just listen." He pulled her just a little bit closer, leaning his head down so he could murmur in her ear so they wouldn't be overheard. "One-two-three, one-two-three…"

They started to dance again, but it was suddenly a very different waltz. The steps were smaller, and they moved in a tighter circle. They were just a little bit closer together than they had been before, but neither of them thought to pull away. Jonathan had stopped counting off the waltz in her ear, because his mind was suddenly occupied with other, very strange things. Like the delicate scent of roses, given off by the blooms in her hair. And the gentle curve of her back under his hand, and the feel of her body as she almost pressed against him as they danced. With their closer proximity, her hand on his shoulder had slid up to the back of his neck. While it was no longer a tight grip, it had somehow become even more distracting. He tried to take his mind off of all of these things, reminding himself sternly that he was dancing with his sister.

It wasn't until the dance was almost over that the most unsettling thought of all came to him: _she wasn't really his sister. Not even his sister-in-law. Not really._

When they had started to dance again, Margaret had looked nervously over Jonathan's shoulder, her eyes darting this way and that, as if someone would recognize that she didn't know what she was doing and order her off the dance floor. But his voice was so soothing, whispering in her ear, that before long she forgot all about being nervous. After a time he stopped counting, but she hardly noticed. She had suddenly noticed the way he smelled: very clean, like soap. She liked that smell; somehow it made her smile. His cheek was close to hers, and she had the overwhelming desire to lean into him. His hand holding hers was warm, and she somehow felt secure in his arms. If she could keep from stepping on his foot again.

The music ended. They stopped dancing, but they did not move away from each other right away. For the space of a few heartbeats they stayed in each other's arms and just looked at each other. There were no jokes, no banter, and no sarcastic looks. Finally, Margaret smiled, a soft smile that made Jonathan catch his breath.

"Thank you," she said.

"It was my pleasure," he said quietly. "We're not finished, you know."

"No?"

"No." He grinned. "Next time you're learning to tango."


	3. Part Two- Assumptions

Margaret sat on her usual bench in the garden

"Assumptions"

Margaret sat on her usual bench in the garden. The spring night was fairly warm, so she did not shiver tonight. She turned her face up to the sky, looking at the stars that shimmered down at her. She no longer came out here every night; it was more like three or four times a week. She still missed Ardeth, certainly, and he was still in her thoughts. But she realized that Jonathan had been right; several months ago, he had assured her that in time, she would be able to think of her lost love without pain. And it was true; while many details had been long forgotten, the memory of his love still made her smile.

But moving on was still hard sometimes. 

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked the stars. She sighed. "I still love you," she said, speaking to the Medjai warrior that she would never see again. "And I know a part of me always will. But how long do I mourn you? I can't think that you will spend the rest of your life alone. So you wouldn't ask that of me, would you?" She fell silent then, thinking on the Saturday before. Jonathan had taken her out to a very posh club, they had shared a fabulously extravagant meal, and then he had taught her to dance. And for those few minutes in his arms on the dance floor she had felt…what? She couldn't be certain, but it had felt like a remnant of the warmth that she had felt when Ardeth had touched her. Even the memory of it now, of her hand in his, his other hand at the small of her back guiding her gently through the dance, made her cheeks flush just a little and brought a small smile to her face. 

But with that smile came a wave of guilt. Did these thoughts make her unfaithful? A year ago, she had told Ardeth that he had her heart. And in some ways he still did. Sometimes she awoke in the middle of the night, missing him so much that she couldn't breathe. But other times, she found her thoughts returning to Jonathan, and his soothing voice, his sparkling eyes, and his easy way of making her laugh.

She sighed again. Was this love? She'd lived the first thirty years of her life without it. Now, after a year's experience with it, she didn't think she liked it at all. Could love really be worth all these uncertain feelings? She didn't see how.

***

Jonathan was halfway to where he saw Margaret sitting in the garden before he remembered what time it was, and the significance of nine o'clock. He wanted to smack himself in the head for forgetting such a thing. He'd been preoccupied, though. Preoccupied with the woman sitting just a few feet away. She'd been on his mind ever since their night out on Saturday, although it was easy to keep her in his thoughts when they lived in the same house, and took nearly every meal together. How was it that they had lived under the same roof for all this time, and he had never noticed her before? Never really noticed her. She seemed like a new person since Saturday. Or maybe it was his perception of her; perhaps he was just seeing her with very new eyes.

He involuntarily took a step closer, watching as she tilted her face up to look at the sky. She was speaking softly, but one phrase made it to his ears. "I still love you," she told the stars.

Jonathan froze in his tracks. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and then backed away, the grass cushioning his shoes so that his retreat made no sound. Margaret never heard, never turned around.

"Of course," he said to himself when he reached the house. What was he thinking? He must be mad; of course she wasn't thinking of him. Her heart was taken, and always had been. Yes, he must be going mad.

***

"Oh, Jonathan," Evelyn said the next day at dinner, "I wonder if you would do me a favor."

Her brother nodded, taking a sip of wine. "What is it?"

"Do you remember Lillian Barnes?" Evelyn waved off the question as soon as she'd asked it. "Oh, I'm sure you don't, but she was a dear friend of mine from school. It seems she's in town visiting her family. She came to see me today at the museum, and I told her you would take her to the theatre on Saturday night."

Jonathan sputtered, nearly choking on his wine. "You did? You didn't consider asking me first? You never know, I could have had plans."

Evelyn shrugged. "But you don't, do you? That's two days away, and we usually know by now if you have a new girl on the horizon." Reacting to Jonathan's stunned look, she suddenly became more contrite. "I'm sorry, you're right. It was rude of me. Do you have plans? I just know how you like the theatre, and she wanted to go, and--"

"Of course." Jonathan held up a hand, stopping his sister's apology. "And you're quite right. I have nothing planned. Saturday will be fine." He deliberately did not look across the table at Margaret, because all he could think of at that moment was the Saturday before. Pale pink dress, cream roses in her hair, the way her hand had felt in his. He frowned, trying to cut off such thoughts. He'd seen her in the garden the other night, after all, hadn't he? Hadn't he heard what she'd said? She was still in love with Ardeth, after all this time. She wasn't giving him a second thought.

Margaret stared hard at her plate, trying very hard not to listen to Evelyn and Jonathan make plans for him to take this Lillian woman out on Saturday. She thought briefly about their conversation at dinner, the night he had taken her out. He had bemoaned the endless line of "boring" women in his life, and then had looked at her that night as if he didn't find her boring at all. She had thought that he…well, it didn't matter now what she had thought. She excused herself from the table, secretly proud of how level and normal her voice sounded as she did so. 

She went up the stairs to her room, needing to get away and think for a few minutes. So many things had changed in these last few minutes. The other night, she had sat in the garden, wondering if it was time to move on. Apparently, it wasn't. What was the point of moving on, after all, if there was no one to move on with? She was nothing to Jonathan, other than an ostensible sister-in-law and a last-minute substitute date. Anything else was a product of her overactive imagination. She bit her lip, closing her eyes to the disappointment. She felt so embarrassed-- how would she be able to face Jonathan? How could she look him in the eye, after the foolish things she'd been thinking?

Suddenly, she remembered what he had called her a little over a week ago. "Spinster aunt." That thought brought hot, ashamed tears to her eyes. That was what he truly thought of her. She'd been acting like a lovesick schoolgirl, creating something from absolutely nothing. And now there were these feelings in her heart that would never be realized. And there was no one to blame but herself.

She gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to scream out loud in frustration. She paced her room, thinking. She had put these feelings in her heart all by herself, so it was up to her to take them out again. It was as simple as that. It may involve avoiding Jonathan for a little while, until she could look at him again without remembering all of these foolish notions. But she could do it. She knew she could.

***

Lillian Barnes was a little younger than Evelyn, and a little older than Margaret. She was tall; taller than Evy, but not quite as tall as Margaret. She was blonde, and quite pretty. And very, very vapid.

Jonathan had determined all of these things before the first course of dinner was even over. While Lillian prattled on about…something, Jonathan found himself remembering something he'd heard a friend say at a card game. "If a woman is unmarried at thirty, there's usually a reason why." In Lillian's case, the reason was that she was so boring that surviving the evening with her would be a miracle, much less a lifetime. Jonathan refilled her champagne glass, then his own. As he set the bottle back in the ice bucket, his mind flashed on last Saturday night: he and Margaret having a small tussle over the bottle, both of them laughing. Certainly a very different scene from this evening. He did his best not to sigh. They were going to the theatre after dinner. At least it wouldn't be boring there.

***

Margaret was restless. After dinner she had tried to read, but after staring at the same page for fifteen minutes with no idea of what she was reading, she tossed the book aside. Knitting didn't do it for her either; usually, she could lose herself in the stitches, letting the rhythm of turning yarn into fabric lull her into almost a meditative state. But tonight, she didn't even pick up the needles. She stared into the fire for a little while, hoping to find an answer there. Finally in a bit of a huff, she went out into the garden. Maybe the night air would do her some good.

It was a slightly cool night, not cold enough to make her shiver, but cool enough to make her mind more alert. As she wandered through the garden, running a hand absently over the shrubs, she ran through her mind, trying to figure out what was bothering her so. She didn't want it to be Jonathan. She had made good progress these past couple of days in getting the idea of him out of her heart. Of course, her entire daily routine felt disrupted as a result. She no longer lingered at the breakfast table, having one last cup of tea with Jonathan and Evelyn. She didn't look across the table at dinner and share a smile with him about absolutely nothing like she used to. And there were no more evenings at the table in the sitting room, beating him at gin. She missed that, and hoped she could get back to it soon. Those were innocent enough activities, after all. They were just impossible right now, when every time she looked at him, she was reminded of what he didn't see in her. She wasn't a woman to him. She was a little sister. And until she could think that way again too, avoiding him was best.

She paused by the rosebushes, where a cream-colored rose glowed in the moonlight, mocking her. She plucked it, hissing in pain as a thorn sank right into the pad of her index finger. She sucked her finger into her mouth. It figured.

***

Jonathan couldn't believe it. The night had gone from bad to worse. He had thanked his lucky stars when the house lights had lowered, so he could stop making insipid small talk with this woman and turn his attention to the play. Ten minutes later, he wanted the house lights back up, so he could run like hell out of the theatre. 

Evelyn had been right; he enjoyed going to the theatre. He had seen wonderful plays, plays that were simply good, and ones that were less than stellar. This one was terrible. Not simply bad. Not dull, or boring. This was a waste of the oxygen he was consuming while he sat in this chair. When it ended, he would be a few hours closer to the end of his life, with absolutely nothing to show for it.

He glanced beside him at Lillian, who was staring rapt at the stage. He knew, he just _knew_, that if Margaret were sitting beside him right now, she would be just as horrified as he was. She would glance at him the same time he glanced at her, and they would both have to fight to keep from laughing out loud. At a particularly bad portion, she would grasp his arm, her nails digging into his skin in agony as she tried to endure the banality. Then they would flee the theatre during intermission, giggling like children skipping school. The thought of that made him smile.

That smile soon faded from his face. Margaret had changed in the past few days. He didn't know what had happened, but lately she seemed to go out of her way to avoid talking to him. If he settled into the sitting room with his cards, she got up and left before he could offer her a game. At dinner the other night, he had caught her glancing his way, but her eyes had fled from his face almost immediately. But in the instant that their eyes had caught, he could tell that she looked terribly sad. Something was wrong. Usually she talked to him; since coming home from Alexandria last year, they had gotten a lot closer. She had confided in him when she needed to talk about her heartbreak, and he had been glad to listen.

This week had certainly been awkward. After his misapprehension about both her feelings for him and her readiness to move on, he hadn't been sure of what to say around her. Perhaps that was why she was avoiding him; perhaps he had made his growing affection too obvious, and she was trying to spare him from being hurt. 

But then why had _she_ looked so sad when she looked at him? That put him at a loss.

All of this puzzling had managed to get him safely through until intermission. He spent the second half of the play puzzling further, but not figuring out anything new. As far as he could conclude, she was either trying to spare his feelings, or he had done something to upset her. But ultimately, he decided it didn't matter. He missed her, pure and simple. And he wanted her to talk to him again, to make things, at the very least, like they were before. So when this living hell of a night was over, he was going to go home, back Margaret into a corner, and make her talk to him. Enough was enough.

***

It was getting late. Margaret had paused to sit on her little garden bench around nine, but even that held no charm for her tonight. Instead it frustrated her. Was this how she was going to live her life, with her mind in the past, always looking backwards? It didn't seem fair. She wandered around the garden for a while longer, meticulously shredding the rose she had picked earlier. After removing the petals one by one, she finally broke the bud completely off the stem, hurling both pieces away from her. Enough. She just needed to go to bed and get some sleep. Maybe after a good night's rest, things would look better tomorrow.

She turned to go back to the house, and froze. Jonathan stood not ten feet away. He was still wearing his tuxedo from his night out, but he had loosened the tie, so the ends hung down either side of his neck. Looking at him, her heart started to break a little all over again. When had he become so handsome? And why had she ever had to notice?

"There you are," he said. "Evelyn was starting to worry. If I didn't find you soon, she was going to send out a search party for you."

She tried to smile, but it didn't really work. She didn't try again. "How was your date?" she asked, her voice flat.

He grimaced. "The company was bad, and the play was worse. Let's leave it at that. How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Tired, though. I'm just going in now." She tried to walk past him, but he caught her arm.

"Margaret." She closed her eyes as he spoke her name, turning her head away from him. "What's the matter?"

She pulled her arm out of his grasp. "Nothing. I told you, I'm fine." She moved to go, but then he spoke again.

"You're not. Please, Meg, don't lie to me. I couldn't bear that." There was a wistful, almost pleading note in his voice that halted her in her tracks. 

"Please, Jonathan, I--I can't."

"You can't?" He echoed in disbelief. She heard him step even closer to her. He didn't touch her, but she could practically feel him against her back. "Why not, Meg? What have I done?"

She turned then to face him. "You? You've done nothing."

He stood right in front of her now, arms folded. "Yes, I have. You haven't said more than 'pass the salt' to me all week. I must have done something. Or did you simply decide to stop speaking to me for no reason at all?"

She sighed. This conversation wasn't going well at all. "It's not you. Please. I wish I could talk to you about it, I really do. But I can't, all right?"

He shook his head stubbornly. "No. No, it's not all right. You can talk to me. You know that, Meg. You've always been able to talk to me."

Hurt and confusion were evident on his face. She ducked her head down, trying to avoid looking at him. "Not about this," she finally whispered.

"Then it is something I've done," he said, almost as quietly. He touched her chin with his fingertips, tilting her head back up to look at him. "Tell me what it is," he said. "I can't have this between us. I want things to be like they were. Please."

She jerked her chin out of his grasp, stepping back from him. "For heaven's sake!" she cried. "It's not you, all right? I wish it were. I wish I had someone else to blame for this, but it's me. It's all me." Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could hardly breathe. She couldn't believe she was going to do this, but she was going to tell him. Everything. He was right. If things were going to be like before, she had to tell him how stupid she had been. Then maybe they could both have a good laugh at her foolishness and move on.

"I've been very stupid lately," she continued, "and I've let myself think some very stupid things. You've always been so nice to me. And when we went out last Saturday, I--" her mind raced, trying to figure out how to continue. "I had a wonderful time."

"As did I," he said, but she barely heard him. She'd already launched into another speech.

"But I let myself think some things. Some foolish, foolish things. And that's not your fault. It's not. It was never your fault, and I never blamed you. But I thought--" to her anger and dismay, a small sob escaped her throat. She didn't want to cry. Not now. She swallowed it and kept speaking, her eyes cast down, intently studying his shoes.

"The way you looked at me that night. I felt…different. I thought that you thought of me differently. I thought that you looked at me as something other than a sister. Something more." She risked a glance up to his face as she admitted the truth. He was still standing there with his arms folded. His eyes were wide, and he looked stunned. "I don't know why I thought that way," she hastened to explain. "But I did. I thought there was something happening between us. The beginning of something, anyway. I thought that you…well. That doesn't matter now. Because you don't. And that's all right. I don't blame you. It's not your fault that I started to feel that way. You were just being kind, and I--" She never finished that sentence, because Jonathan suddenly unfolded his arms and stepped up to her. Before she could react, he took her head between his hands and covered her mouth with his. His lips were soft, and his kiss was gentle, but it was persistent. He kept on kissing her until her body relaxed, and her mouth began to move against his, returning the kiss that he gave her.

After a few more moments he pulled back, looking at her. Her eyes were wide. "What are you doing?" she breathed.

"Something that I should have done last week, I think," he replied. He started to bend to kiss her again, but stopped, a vague look of alarm on his face. "Or am I wrong? Oh, Meg." Apparently, it had become Jonathan's turn to babble. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Even tonight, all I wanted to do was leave and come home to you. But I thought that you weren't ready. I thought…"

His palms were warm against her cheeks. They felt right there. Before he could change his mind and pull away, Margaret reached up, curled her hands around the back of his head, and brought his mouth back down to hers. And with a few more kisses, a week's worth of incorrect assumptions were quickly forgotten.


	4. Part Three-- Proposals

"Proposals"

"Proposals"

Things changed subtly in the next few weeks at the O'Connell house. No announcements were made, largely because neither Jonathan nor Margaret knew exactly what to say. Although their affection for one another had been building for a long time, the actual transition from brother and sister to something more was rather sudden. It had caught them both off-guard, and they weren't really sure what they were supposed to do next.

Theirs was a unique situation, Jonathan pointed out one evening, after pulling Margaret out into the garden for a walk after dinner. After spending three years living in the same house as friends and quasi-siblings, they knew each other very well. They didn't have to go through any awkward, getting-to-know-one-another stages that new relationships usually did. They were already comfortable with one another. 

And as far as their day-to-day lives went, nothing had changed, really. They still spent time together the way they always had before. So they stuck to their old routines, with smaller, more subtle changes. Jonathan stayed home much more often, more than he had in years. He and Margaret lingered in the sitting room together later and later in the evening, playing endless card games, talking and laughing in low voices. He joined her more and more often for walks in the garden: chasing three-year-old Hannah in the afternoons, and walking more slowly with Margaret in the evenings.

They didn't want to say anything to the rest of the family. Not yet. Their newly-discovered feelings for one another were simply too fresh. Jonathan was still astonished at the feel of her cheek under his hand, and the softness of her lips against his. Margaret was still amazed at the way he held her hand, their fingers entwining together in a gentle grip. She still marveled at the subtle strength in his arms when he held her. 

They didn't need to tell the others yet, they agreed. They were being very discreet, after all. Jonathan only kissed her here, in the garden, where no one else could see them. The rest of the time they behaved perfectly normally. No one would suspect a thing.

***

Something was going on. Evelyn just knew it. It was hard to put her finger on at first, but a lot of things just seemed to be different lately. Lots of little things. For example, Jonathan hardly ever went out anymore. He had his standing card game with his friends, of course, which was usually once a week or so. But he didn't seem to have any new women in his life, which struck Evelyn as odd. He was usually pretty open about his relationships, or lack thereof. But now he was reticent, volunteering nothing.

Normally, she would ask him about it, but she curbed her curiosity this time. She had set Jonathan up on a disastrous date with an old school friend a while ago. Lillian had been a dear friend in their younger days, but the years since school had blurred Evelyn's memory of her. She had forgotten, for example, the fact that there was nothing between Lillian's ears but air. The glower on his face when he had returned from the theatre that evening had been all Evelyn had needed to see. She realized at that moment that she had lost all rights to be concerned with his love life, and that she would never be allowed to set him up on another date.

But the strange thing was, Evelyn mused, that Jonathan seemed happier now than he had ever been. Even though, by his standards, he was doing nothing of any interest. He was sticking to the house more often, even helping Margaret tire out Hannah before her nap in the afternoon. He was staying in most evenings too, taking air in the garden or playing cards with Margaret…

Evelyn set her teacup back into its saucer with a clink, her eyes wide with realization. Could it be…? No. She sat back in her chair, her mind racing over pictures in her recent memory. The other night during dinner, Margaret had glanced across the table at Jonathan, smiled, and then quickly tossed her eyes down to her plate, a flush in her cheeks. Last week in the sitting room, Margaret had helped Jonathan gather discarded cards. Evelyn saw their hands brush together, and hadn't Jonathan held her hand for a few moments there? At the time, Evelyn had just thought that she'd imagined it, but now, thinking back…

It would certainly make sense. It would account for Jonathan's good mood, in spite of a diminished social life. It explained Margaret's smiles, which seemed to come more and more frequently as of late. Evelyn picked up her teacup again with a satisfied smile. Two of her favorite people in the world were falling in love with each other. She wondered how long it would take before they admitted it to the rest of the family.

***

"Gin!" Margaret tossed her hand to the table, a triumphant smile on her face. The grandfather clock in the sitting room began to chime as Jonathan gathered up the scattered cards with a chagrined smile. She leaned ever-so-slightly in his direction. "Is it my imagination, or are you getting worse at this game?"

"Never!" he protested automatically. He shuffled the cards, his eyes focused on his hands. "But it doesn't look good to win too often when you're playing against a lady. You don't want to fall out of her favor, after all."

"What a load of nonsense," she replied, sitting back in her chair again. "If you are throwing games just to make me happy, I order to you stop at once."

He looked up at her then, arching an eyebrow. "Very well, then. Just remember that you said that, five years from now when you have yet to win." He glanced over her shoulder to the clock behind her. He tapped the cards on the table, straightening them, but then just laid the deck down instead of dealing the cards. "But for now," he said, rising out of his chair, "I'm off." He crossed to her chair and, looking around the sitting room to ensure they were alone, dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.

"Off?" Margaret caught his arm, her brow furrowed slightly. "Where are you going?" She gave him a little half-smirk. "Are you that afraid of losing?"

He laughed quietly. "Not at all," he replied, running the back of his index finger down her cheek. Then he stepped away from her, indicating the clock behind her. "But it's nine o'clock," he said. "You'll be wanting to go to the garden." She didn't go out there every night, like she used to, but it was still at least a once-a-week occasion. And Jonathan knew it had been a few days since the last time she'd gone out there to sit.

Margaret turned in her chair, studying the clock. She looked out to the garden for a few moments, then she turned back to Jonathan. She shook her head. "No," she said. "Not tonight."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't mind. I know that it's something you--"

"No," she repeated. She thought for a moment, and then took a deep breath. "That's my past. It's time I left it there. My future is here," she said, reaching for his hand. He gripped her hand, carefully at first, then more tightly as her words sank in.

"Margaret," he said, but his voice was a half-hearted protest. The joy on his face was as apparent as the love in her eyes. "You don't have to--"

"Shhh," she said with a smile, cutting him off. She squeezed his hand. "Please. Stay."

He looked over his shoulder again at the empty sitting room, his heart pounding at the notion of what he was about to do. Assured again of the fact that it was just the two of them there, he knelt by her chair. Still holding the hand she had offered him, he cupped her cheek in his other hand. He leaned in and, for the first time, kissed her inside the house. She let go of his hand to put both of hers on his shoulders, and he put his freed hand on her waist. After a series of small kisses, he opened his mouth, deepening the kiss, and felt her lips part in response. Her hands moved to the back of his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair. The feel of her hands and the taste of her mouth almost undid him. He wanted to pull her closer, he wanted to--

"How's the game going? Meg, you beat the pants off of Jonathan yet oh my God." Neither of them heard Rick walk into the room but they certainly heard his voice. They jumped apart, Margaret throwing herself backwards in her chair, Jonathan falling back to sit on his heels. They looked at one another in horror. Then as one, they turned their eyes to Rick, who was standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression. For a long moment, no one said anything.

Then Rick cleared his throat. "I really, _really_ did not mean that literally," he said. Margaret clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a nervous giggle, and Jonathan rose to his feet.

"Yes. Well, Rick, you see…" Jonathan's mouth was moving, but he had no idea what he was saying.

Rick backed away a couple of steps, so he was officially out of the room. He turned his head slightly, but kept his eyes on the couple in the room. "Oh, Evelyn!" he called. "I think you need to come in here for a minute."

"Really, Rick, " Margaret said, getting to her feet. She was currently on her fourth shade of pink. "That's not necessary. It's not how it looks, really."

Rick raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "It's not? Boy, this oughta be good." He gestured for her to continue.

"Well, um…" Margaret had apparently lost the ability to form a cohesive sentence. She looked from her smirking brother to Jonathan, who had recovered enough from the shock to be holding in a laugh of his own.

"Never mind, love," Jonathan said, stepping closer to her, putting his arms around her shoulders in a comforting gesture. "We were going to tell them soon anyway, weren't we?"

She studied his face for a moment. He looked so happy that she couldn't help but smile back. He was right, after all. They weren't going to keep it a secret forever. "So much for being discreet," she muttered. Rick snorted in the doorway. She glanced in his direction, turned a fifth shade of pink, and, embarrassed, laid her head down on Jonathan's shoulder to avoid looking at anyone.

"Rick, what are you shouting about? I really don't want you to wake up Hannah." Evelyn's voice trailed off as she reached the sitting room and took in the scene before her. Rick, his expression a strange combination of shocked and amused, leaned against the doorframe. Inside the room, Margaret was an interesting shade of pink, and looked as if she was trying to bury her head in Jonathan's shoulder. He stood very close to her, his arms around her protectively, ready to shield her from further embarrassment. His head was close to hers, and he was stroking her back in a decidedly non-brotherly way. A huge smile lit up Evelyn's face.

"Oh, at last!" she said gleefully. She folded her arms and leaned against the opposite doorframe, looking in essence like a shorter, more feminine version of her husband. Only her smirk was more amused and less shocked. "Have they finally decided to tell us?"

Jonathan's head snapped around. "Tell you?" he repeated. He regarded his sister for a few moments, then sighed. His arms relaxed, dropping from around Margaret, but her head stayed on his shoulder. "Do you ever get tired of knowing absolutely everything?"

Evelyn shook her head. "No," she grinned. "But I'm so glad the wait is over. I feel as though _I've_ been the one with a secret."

"It wasn't a secret," Margaret protested. She finally decided to stop acting like an ostrich and lifted her head from Jonathan's shoulder. "We just didn't want anyone to know about it. We--"

Her voice was drowned out by Rick and Evelyn, who burst into laughter at the same time. Margaret thought about what she said, and shook her head with a helpless laugh of her own. She looked up at Jonathan, who was grinning himself. "Oh, forget it," she muttered.

  
Evelyn wiped a tear from her eye and tried to compose herself, but it took a couple more giggles before she was truly successful. "So," she said, her eyes glittering with mischief. "Have the two of you set a date yet?" 

  
She was obviously trying to shock Margaret into another embarrassing color, but Jonathan headed off her teasing with some of his own. "Well, I'm not sure," he drawled, wrapping an arm around Margaret's shoulders. "This Saturday is just too soon. Next week is my poker game, and the lads would never forgive me for missing that. Hmmm…" he said, pretending to think. "The week after that could work, though. What do you think, love," he asked, looking down at Margaret, one eye closing just slightly in a suggestion of a wink. "Does two weeks from Saturday sound good to you?"

Margaret smiled. Had Jonathan winked at her? Was he kidding, or was he serious? She suddenly had the desire to call his bluff, if he was indeed bluffing. "Well, that would give me time to find a nice dress. I'm sure Evelyn wouldn't mind taking me shopping, would you, Evy?"

Evelyn grinned again, happy to be in on the expanding joke. "Of course not," she said. "Something simple and tasteful, but elegant. We can go shopping whenever you like."

"Perfect!" Margaret replied. She looked up at Jonathan again, and her smile slipped just a little. He had a queer expression on his face. "What is it?" she asked.

He looked at her a little warily. "You're not joking anymore, are you?" he asked.

The atmosphere shifted, from levity to uncertainty. Margaret didn't know how to answer, because she wasn't sure what the answer was. She stammered for a moment. "Are you?" she finally asked.

His eyes searched her face, as if he was looking at her for the first time. "I think I was at first," he said. "But now, I'm not sure." 

They just looked at each other for a long moment, apparently forgetting that they weren't alone in the room. Then she nodded slowly. "All right," she said quietly.

Jonathan's eyes flew wide. He reached up to place his hands on her shoulders. "Do you mean--"

She nodded again, a smile breaking out across her face like a sunrise. "Two weeks from Saturday?"

He gripped her shoulders harder. His mouth was a little slack; it was obvious he had been rendered speechless. Margaret felt a curl of alarm in her stomach. Had he really been kidding after all? Had the joke gone too far? But then he moved suddenly, pulling her into an embrace that almost crushed her. His shoulders shook; she was pretty sure he was laughing. And she suddenly realized that she was too.

"Yes," he said into her hair, his voice shaking. "Oh, my God, yes. Of course."

__

Isn't it the woman who's supposed to say yes? Margaret wondered dimly, but somehow it didn't matter. He was kissing her hair, her temple, her cheek…

Suddenly, Jonathan was pulled from her arms. "Okay, enough of that." Rick had taken Jonathan's arm, and was dragging him out of the room. Evelyn and Margaret helplessly watched them go. "It's time for you to explain to me just what you've been doing with my sister," they heard Rick say as their footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Evelyn and Margaret looked at the doorway for another moment, then at each other. "He can't throw him out," Evelyn said. "The house is half Jonathan's."

Margaret raised her eyebrows. "I hope Rick remembers that." Then her stomach dropped down into her shoes. She looked at Evelyn in horror. "Evelyn," she cried. "I'm getting married!"

Evelyn's grin returned to her face. "It certainly seems that way." She looked at Margaret a little cautiously. "Is that what you want?" She waved her hand around the room. "That wasn't exactly the most orthodox proposal. In fact, it was probably the worst one ever. I'm sure he wouldn't hold it against you if you changed your mind."

Margaret sank into her chair. Her mind was churning too fast to think clearly. Things had changed so quickly. Just an hour ago, she had been having a quiet game of cards, and now she was engaged. "Engaged." She spoke that word out loud, trying it out. In spite of all the confusion, she found that she liked the sound of that word. Forcing her brain to focus, she thought about Jonathan. About marrying him. Becoming his wife. That simple thought filled her with so much joy that she wanted to laugh out loud.

"I'm getting married," she said again. But instead of looking horrified, she looked ecstatic.

***

After such a dramatic evening, life returned to normal the next day. Jonathan and Margaret felt strangely relieved; they hadn't realized what a strain it had been to keep their secret until they didn't need to do it anymore. There wasn't much involved in planning their wedding, since neither of them wanted a huge fuss made. Their love had developed quietly; they wanted their wedding to be just as quiet. Evelyn and Margaret planned a day soon to go out together, to buy a new dress for Margaret to be married in. Both Rick and Jonathan stayed happily away from these plans; they both agreed that there was nothing more frightening than a woman plotting a day of shopping. Unless it was two women doing the same thing.

About a week after that "unorthodox proposal," as Evelyn had put it, Margaret found herself with a nagging concern in the back of her head. As she sat on the floor of Hannah's room, helping the little girl build a tower out of blocks, she let her thoughts run free, hoping to figure out what was bothering her. And in a flash, it came to her.

She was engaged. She knew she was. The look of joy on Jonathan's face every time he looked at her, and the gentle way he kissed her goodnight every night told her that he loved her. He loved her, and she was going to become his wife.

But it just didn't feel real. That was the problem.

She was certainly no expert on romance. And perhaps this was all a lesson in not believing everything you read. But when men proposed marriage in novels, they did so on one knee, and there was usually a ring of some sort involved. They didn't start it out as a joke and then realize they had been outbluffed.

Was that what had happened? Had she taken the joke too far, and he had been simply too polite to call a stop to it? The idea sent a wave of panic through her, and almost brought tears to her eyes. Had she trapped him into marrying her?

She needed to talk to him. After Hannah went down for a nap, she went looking for Jonathan. She couldn't find him anywhere. Rick didn't know anything, and neither did Evelyn. Margaret sighed. Maybe she could talk with him after dinner.

He wasn't home for dinner, which only increased Margaret's sense of panic. Evelyn shrugged when Margaret asked where he could be. 

"Don't worry about it," she said, sounding far too calm. "I'm sure he'll turn up later. Whatever you need to talk to him about can wait." 

After dinner, Evelyn suggested that Margaret relax in the sitting room for a little while, maybe get some knitting done. Margaret decided that that was a good idea. It had been a while since she had done that. Maybe knitting would make her feel better. She settled in her usual armchair and picked up her knitting bag. Plunging her hand in, she pulled out her current project, and something else fell into her lap.

It was a cream colored rose, edged in pink. It looked like one of the ones from the garden. She picked it up and twirled it in her fingers, a small smile creeping to her face for the first time in hours. There was a note tied to its stem. She read the note, her smile widening as she recognized Jonathan's handwriting.

**__**

Come to the summerhouse as soon as you can.

She abandoned her knitting and slipped out the back door into the garden.

***

The summerhouse was a small outbuilding, located towards the back of the garden. It was a comfortable place to go in the evenings when the weather was fine. Alex liked to persuade the whole family to "camp" out there in the summer. They would drag out the old quilts and sit on the grass for hours, looking at the stars, before going to sleep in slumber-party fashion in the cool summerhouse. The furniture inside was certainly second-best; this was the place the old, shabby, but still useful couch from the living room went when a new one was purchased. They had never gotten around to wiring it for electricity, though, so there were a few small oil lamps inside.

The lamps were lit. Margaret could see the glow from them through the windows of the small building as she crossed the lawn. She smiled again, touching the bloom to her nose once more, inhaling its scent. She quickened her step, hurrying to the steps that led to the summerhouse's door. 

Roses. That was the first thing her mind assimilated when she opened the door. The small building was simply filled with roses. Cream colored roses filled vases, buckets, jars, glasses. They sat on shabby side tables, lined the walls, were draped in piles over couches. All of the couches, and the chairs too; there was nowhere to sit, the room was so full of roses.

All of the chairs except one. In the center of the room was a simple straightbacked chair, and Jonathan sat in it. He stood as she opened the door and paused on the threshold.

"Jonathan." Her voice was tiny as she looked around the room. She walked a few steps in, as dazed as a sleepwalker. She had to try more than once to get out a sentence. "What…what did you do?"

He crossed to her, taking her hands and pulling her more firmly inside the room. He looked around with her, feigning uncertainty. "Too many, do you think?" She started to nod, but then checked the movement and shook her head, which made them both laugh. 

She looked up at him then, the dazed look gone. But she still looked confused. "What is this for?"

"For you, of course," he replied, slipping his arms around her waist. He kissed her forehead and held her close for a moment before he began to speak. "It occurred to me the other day that we've been going about this all wrong."

"We have?"

He nodded. "Proposals are supposed to be romantic. I don't know how I planned to ask you to marry me. I hadn't figured it out yet. But it probably involved champagne, perhaps another dance." He looked at her then a little ruefully. "But what it certainly did not involve was my sister and brother-in-law looking on, turning it into some kind of joke."

Margaret sighed, the panic from earlier today rising in her chest. "Oh, Jonathan, I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have--"

He placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. "Stop that. Stop apologizing right now. You have nothing to be sorry for. I started it. Well, actually, Evy started it, but I let it continue. And now--" He paused, his face suddenly clouded by a vague worry. "Now, well, I couldn't help but wonder if you agreed to marry me because we were in front of an audience. If you wanted to spare me the embarrassment of saying no."

Margaret's breath caught in her chest. She was torn between amazement that he had the same fear she did, and alarm that he thought she didn't want him. But before she could say anything, he continued.

"That's what this is for," he said, turning around and indicating all of the roses. "I wanted you to know that even though it may have sounded like a joke, it wasn't." He studied the roses for a few moments.

"I'll never forget that night." His voice had suddenly gone very quiet, so quiet that Margaret could barely hear him. "Teaching you to dance. You had those roses in your hair, and they were all I could smell. That was the night you changed."

"Changed?"

He nodded, turning back to her. "You changed right in my arms while we were dancing. I blinked, and my little sister Meg was gone," he said, taking her face between his hands, tracing the curve of her cheek. "Standing there in her place was Margaret, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen."

She stared up at him, not knowing what to say. A tear escaped from the corner of each eye, and he bent to kiss them away. His lips lingered on her skin, learning the way she tasted. Her eyes slid closed, concentrating on the feel of his mouth on her cheek, moving across to her lips.

"I love you, Margaret," his voice little more than a whisper of breath. "I will love you until I die." She didn't have time to do more than sigh before his mouth closed over hers in a gentle but very thorough kiss. She felt more tears escape, and they ran unheeded down her cheeks.

A few moments later, they stood in each other's arms, each holding on tightly. Margaret looked over his shoulder at all of the roses. "Are there any cream roses left in London?" she asked. 

He turned in her arms to look at them, then looked back at her with a smile. "I hope not," he said. "If there are, I didn't get what I paid for."

Margaret laughed, looking at him with shining eyes. "I'm afraid that you're insane," she said.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "And you agreed to marry me," he replied. "What does that say about you?"

"True enough." She tried to heave a regretful sigh, but it came out sounding very satisfied instead.

"Which reminds me," Jonathan said, stepping away from her. "We're not finished."

Margaret looked at him quizzically. "We're not?"

"No." He shook his head. "I told you, that was a horrible marriage proposal. If that were all I offered you, I wouldn't allow you to marry me. Now, sit there--" He led her to the straightbacked wooden chair in the middle of the room.

Margaret laughed as she sat down. "Jonathan, it's all right. This isn't necessary."

"Oh, yes it is." He reached over to a sofa and plucked a handful of flowers, as if he was picking them from a garden. He handed them to her in a bouquet. She took them dutifully, burying her nose in them, both to smell the flowers and to hide her smile. Her smile widened as she realized that he had knelt in front of her. After all of this, he was going to do this right. The silliness of him proposing to her twice made her want to giggle. But then she looked at his face and her laughter died. He had never looked so serious.

"Margaret," he said, taking her hand. "I know that I've never been the most useful person in the world. You've lived here long enough to know the long history of my failures and disappointments. And what you don't already know I'm sure my sister would be more than willing to fill you in on. What I'm trying to say is that I know that I'm not any great prize for a woman to agree to bind herself to." Margaret started to protest, but he stopped her. "But things have changed. For the first time, I want to do things right, and not just drift through life, depending on luck and the occasional win at cards to help see me through. I have fallen in love with you, and if you will consent to be my wife, I will change. I will become a new person. I won't drink too much champagne and spend evenings at the theatre. I won't go out at night and play cards. I'll be a better person for you, I promise. I--"

"No." Her voice, low but firm, cut off his impassioned speech, and he looked at her dumbfounded.

"No?" he repeated, disbelief and sorrow welling in his eyes.

She shook her head. "No," she said again. "Not only would I never ask you to do those things, I don't want you to." She dropped the flowers into her lap and took his hand between both of hers. "You think of yourself as useless. I think of the man who saved my life in Alexandria. Without you, I would have died. I think of a man who loves life, and has shown me how to love it too. I fell in love with the man who goes out and plays cards. I expect us to go to the theatre together and drink too much champagne together from now on. Please." She gripped his hand tighter. "Don't change who you are. The man you are now, right this minute, is the man I want to marry."

He looked at her, incredulous. "Do you really mean that?" She nodded. His face was filled with joy, and he looked as if he was getting ready to leap to his feet. But he stopped himself. "Yes. Well," he said, his voice now mockingly stern. "We're never going to finish this proposal at this rate."

"I'm sorry," she said, settling back in the chair with a smile. "I promise not to say anything else."

He arched an eyebrow. "Don't do that," he said. "You're supposed to give me an answer."

She pursed her lips, laughter dancing in her eyes. "Then perhaps you should ask me a question."

He nodded. "Yes, and soon. My knees are starting to ache here." Suddenly he was holding a small velvet box, and all laughter was gone from his tone. He looked from the box to Margaret's face, and then he stared as if his eyes were glued to her. "Margaret Crane, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

There was this very small, very rational part of Margaret's brain that said that this whole thing was ridiculous. She had already agreed to marry him, it was happening in just over a week. So why was it suddenly so hard to breathe, why were her eyes suddenly filling with tears? She looked at the closed box for a moment, then lifted her eyes to Jonathan's face. Did he have tears in his eyes too? It was hard to tell. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The second try was more successful. "Of course. Yes," she added, in case "of course" wasn't an official enough answer.

It was unclear what happened next; either Margaret pulled Jonathan to his feet or he pulled her to hers. But in either case they were both standing, holding one another tightly, neither one saying a word.

Jonathan drew back suddenly, shaking his head. "It's a good thing I only plan to get married once," he said. "Because I am truly bad at this."

"No," Margaret protested, pulling him back into her arms. "Not at all, this has been lovely."

"That just shows that no one's asked you to marry them before. You don't know what you're missing," he replied. He held up the box that was still in his hand. "I was supposed to give you this while I was proposing, and put it on your finger."

"Then do it now," she said. "Shall I sit back down?"

He chuckled, offering her the box. "No, I don't want to get down on the floor again." 

She took the box from his hand and opened it. She froze in astonishment, looking at the ring within. Lamplight glinted off the flawless diamond, which was large without being gaudy. Two pearls flanked the gem, one on either side.

Jonathan lifted the ring out of the box as she stared. "This ring was my mother's," he said. "My father gave it to her when he asked her to marry him. And now it's yours."

"It's beautiful," she breathed. But she frowned. "This should be Evelyn's though. Not mine."

He shook his head, kissing her temple. "No. It's mine, actually. She left it to me. And since it doesn't really fit me, I thought I would save it, to give to the woman I marry." He took her left hand, and slid the ring on her third finger. The diamond winked at them in the dim light.

"It fits," she said. She was astonished, but he didn't look surprised by this.

"It ought to," he said. "Evelyn 'borrowed' your garnet ring for a couple of days, and I took it and this ring to a jeweler to get the fit corrected."

"Evelyn," she murmured, still looking at the ring, turning her hand this way and that, admiring it. She glanced up at him. "She knew about all this?"

He nodded with a smile, his arms tightening around her. "Why do you think she was so insistent that you knit tonight?"

She closed her eyes with a smile, snuggling into his embrace, the scent of roses surrounding them. The nagging feeling, the panic she had felt earlier in the day, both of those were completely gone now. It may have taken two tries, but everything felt right at last.

She was getting married.

The End. (?)


	5. Part Four-- The Great Hair Debacle

"The Great Hair Debacle"

"The Great Hair Debacle"

Mmmm… This was the pleasantest part of falling asleep. That strange, foggy, fairyland where one wasn't sure if things were dreams or not. Most nights, Margaret welcomed this feeling, knowing that sleep would follow swiftly. Tonight, she wasn't particularly anxious to lose consciousness. Too much had happened, too many strange and wonderful things, she was almost afraid that she would wake to find it had all been a dream.   
  
But right now, she knew this wasn't a dream. Lying under this heavy blanket, wrapped up in her husband's arms, everything felt peacefully, reassuringly real. She wasn't used to sleeping in the nude, but she felt strangely comfortable. Nestled spoon-like with Jonathan, her back against his warm chest, legs curled around as if she was sitting on his lap, feet tangled together, she had never felt so safe and cozy. And the smell… She would never be able to look back on this night without thinking of the way the room smelled, filled with hundreds of roses, brought in here from the summerhouse after the "Real Proposal," as Jonathan liked to call it.   
  
She brought her hand up to her eye, carefully, so as not to wake Jonathan, and brushed away a stray lock of hair. Just the thought of her hair, and of the Great Hair Debacle, was enough to make her giggle softly. And the letter, that had been the cause of it all. She felt Jonathan stir slightly, and his arm tightened around her waist. Making an effort to be still, Margaret let her mind drift…   
  
*** 

  
It had all begun with a letter.

"There's a letter on the hall table for you," Evelyn had said as she and Margaret passed on the stairs. Margaret hadn't recognized the handwriting, and had taken it into the library to read it. Who could it be from? she had wondered. Who did she know that would write to her? Then she had read it. 

And then she had read it again, and again, hardly able to see through the cloud of befuddlement that surrounded her. The letter had been impossible to take in as a whole; as if by magic short, disjointed phrases leapt off the page and into her consciousness. "…to be married soon…" and "…the tribes rejoice…" and "…release you from any vow…" and "I am sorry…" 

"Oh, Ardeth…" The words had been torn from her lips in a whisper. Her fingers had worried the paper, crumpling it before finally letting it fall to the floor. She barely noticed.

She had sat in the library, shaken and shocked, for quite a while, until the sound of voices outside the window had compelled her to run out of the room and up the stairs. She couldn't face anyone right now. He was getting married.  


She stood now inside her door, leaning heavily against it, and tried to force her mind to stop spinning. Right now her stomach was in a lurch, the pounding in her head was like the sound of the sea in a seashell, only greatly amplified. She closed her eyes and concentrated on taking a deep breath, and on steadying her shaking hands.   


He was getting married!

Without warning, images bombarded her memory, images she had all but forgotten. The softness of his lips, the gentle amusement in his eyes as she pulled him back into bed. His hands combing through her hair, playing with the long strands, winding them around his fingers. And then the tears came: hot, angry tears. Her strength giving out, she slid to the floor, her back pressed against the wood of her bedroom door. She clutched her stomach, fighting for breath around her sudden, involuntary sobs.

How dare he? For a few minutes, that was the only rational, complete thought going through her head. How dare he write her such a letter? Could he be so cold as to dismiss all they had meant to each other with a few words? She got angrier and angrier. He had all but promised undying devotion, she thought, lost for the moment in the irrational, primordial fury of a woman scorned. He had begged her to stay. All this time, she had pictured him alone, looking at her watch and missing her. That vision and the guilt it had caused had added a tinge of melancholy to what might have been many perfect moments with Jonathan. 

Jonathan. The thought of her fiancé pricked through the bubble of hurt and anger. She was getting married too. While that thought usually made her happy, suddenly her insides were squirming. What was going on here? After a few deep breaths, she was able to get more or less steadily to her feet and walk to her bed, sinking down onto it. She laid her head back on the pillow and tried to arrange her feelings. But what was she feeling? What was she supposed to feel? 

Upset. Upset and shocked, that's what she felt, she told herself. Like a bolt from the blue, this news had burst upon her. She was very glad there had been nobody nearby, to see her so undone. She hadn't expected a letter from him. How did he get it here? She didn't even know that he could write English. Wait…that was not the direction her thoughts should be taking. But it was so soon. He hadn't waited long to… She brought herself up short at that. He was getting married no sooner than she was. 

Angry. Yes, she was angry. He had no way of knowing what was going on in her life, and he had sent her that letter, effectively telling her to remove him from her memory. He had obviously removed her from his. Who was he marrying? He hadn't said. Had he known her a long time, or was he marrying a stranger? Was she prettier than Margaret? Did he love his new bride more than he had loved her? She knew in her heart that these were all irrational thoughts, but she indulged them all the same. After a few more angry tears, she thought a little more calmly, taking more deep breaths to force herself to think rationally. He was the leader of the Medjai. Of course he would have to marry; he would have to produce an heir. This was bound to happen someday. They had left each other long ago. She didn't want him back. So why begrudge him this happiness?

She was sad. That, at least, was true. He had been her first true love, after all. She closed her eyes again, trying to conjure up an image of him, but to her chagrin, she found the image was fuzzy and indistinct. Even those images that had tortured her just minutes ago were fading. Her mind kept replacing it with the picture of a man with short curling brown hair, and laughing eyes, and a ready smile. Her second true love. 

Her eyes flew open. Relief. It washed over her in an almost tangible wave. The guilt she had been feeling, and the vague idea that she was being unfaithful, were washed away as well. She sat up, amazed. Her heart felt suddenly lighter, as if the guilt she'd felt had been pressing down, and she'd only noticed it when it was gone. She should go find Jonathan right now, and tell him. She swung her legs off the bed, getting to her feet, and then stopped. Tell him what, exactly? That she was glad to be marrying him? He already knew that. That she was suddenly more glad? A slightly hysterical giggle escaped from her mouth. That made no sense. She caught sight of herself in the small mirror above her dresser. Her eyes were still wild, her face was pale and streaked with tears. And, she now noticed, her knees were still a little weak. She sat back down. There was no use in looking for Jonathan while she so closely resembled a madwoman. Maybe she would sit here and compose herself for a while longer. Then she would wash her face. Then she would go and find Jonathan.

  
But Jonathan had found her instead, out in the garden that night, sitting on her old bench. She didn't know how long he had been out there before she heard him clear his throat. "Margaret…" he started tentatively.   
  
She turned to him then, and held out her hand, smiling up at him. He seemed surprised.   
  
"You're all right?" he asked.   
  
"Of course I am," she replied, drawing him down to sit next to her. Not quite touching, they looked up at the night sky, the stars clearly visible.   
  
"I have a confession to make," he finally said, shamefaced.   
  
"Really? And what is that?"   
  
"I…we…well, Evelyn and I…we read your letter. It was lying there in the library, and we picked it up, and…well, I'm sorry. About everything."   
  
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "That's all right. I was going to tell you about it, but I sat and sat, and suddenly, it was… quite late."   
  
"I must say, you seem awfully calm. I thought…that is…" He stopped to swallow. "I know you must have had an awful shock, and, well…if you want to put things off, or cancel--"   
  
Her eyes flew wide in horror, and she shook her head vigorously. "No! Good heavens, no!"   
  
"You don't?" His voice was a mixture of relief and confusion. "But, I would have thought you'd be terribly upset."   
  
She smiled at him ruefully. "I was a little upset. Pretty shocked, too." She took a deep breath, thinking hard. "But," she continued deliberately, "I discovered that what I really am is very relieved. I've been feeling so guilty…"   
  
"Guilty?! Whatever for?"   
  
Heaving a deep sigh, she gathered her thoughts. "Remember that one night, it must have been about six months or so ago, when you sat out here with me and told me about your first love, and the special room in your heart, and how things do get better?" He could only nod. "Well, that was a very apt analogy." Her voice got a little softer. "Over the last few months, I found myself forgetting more and more things about him. And then I found I didn't think of him all the time anymore. And then, I only thought about him once in a while. And I realized that you were right. He'd gone into his little room, and I had closed the door."   
  
She paused, looking down at her hands, the diamond on her finger winking in the starlight. She examined her ring for a moment, and her voice was strong when she spoke again. "And these last few weeks have been so wonderful, and I've been so happy. Too happy to look into that room. But occasionally, I would pass the door, and I'd feel terribly guilty."   
  
"Ah…" Jonathan sounded as if he was starting to understand.   
  
Hurrying on before he could say anything else, she said, "And I just wish I'd known that he had put me into a room, too, and gone on with his life. Just as I'm doing."   
  
She glanced up at him again as a thought came to her. "What did you do with it?" 

"The letter?" She nodded. He pulled a face. "Well, I…er…threw it on the fire, actually. After all, it was laying there by the fireplace, all crumpled up, I thought that's what you'd intended…" His voice trailed off.   
  
She thought for a moment, then nodded with a small smile. "You're quite right. I did intend that."   
  
"If it makes you feel any better, I said a little prayer for his health and happiness as I watched it burn."   
  
"Did you?" she asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

  
"Well, no, actually, what I believe I said was, 'Bloody hell!' or something like that." She laughed quietly. "But I'll say that prayer now, in earnest, and wish him many strong sons to boot."   
  
Still smiling, she said, "And I wish him as happy as I am."   
  
Jonathan leaned his head over until it was touching hers, and she slipped her arm through his. They sat together silently for several minutes, gazing at the twinkling stars. Jonathan broke the silence.   
  
"I thought I'd lost you, after I'd only just found you." He brushed his lips across her temple. "I was worried, when you came out here, just like you used to."   
  
Twining her fingers through his, she gave his hand a squeeze. "No need to worry. I don't imagine I'll be coming out here anymore. I only wanted to…say goodbye."

***

Jonathan rolled over a bit, leaving Margaret to find another warm spot. As she settled herself, she let herself think about that letter and everything that had followed. The day that she and Evelyn had gone shopping had ended up so strangely. Rick had been so…well. She should just be glad that he'd not sent her back to Cairo after all.

  
***  
  
It had started so innocently. Margaret and Evelyn were just planning to go shopping for wedding clothes. Margaret had thought that they would go to one of the large anonymous department stores. Those stores had quite lovely things, and she only wanted something plain and simple. She had no intention of getting herself up in voluminous satin and lace. To her horror, Margaret found that Jonathan had deposited them in front of a posh looking boutique with the alarming name of "Madame Genevieve."   
  
She had seen places like these at the cinema. There were any number of tall, elegant models, and an overbearing woman, also elegant, as well as supercilious, who made normal people feel like sweeps just for buying clothes. She had followed Evelyn in with some trepidation, staying close so the boy in livery at the door would not spot her as a phony and a fraud and escort her out.   
  
As it turned out, all her fears had been unfounded. Madame Genevieve had turned out to be a pleasant looking woman in her fifties who, except for her very trim and neat figure, could have been somebody's grandmother. She had the unalarming real name of Madge Potter. She had clucked around Margaret and Evelyn, offering excellent advice, and helping with everything from heaving dresses over heads to fixing hairpins. She had understood that Margaret did not want to look like some kind of meringue confection on her wedding day, and together they had found her a very elegant outfit. Margaret had found herself in a cream colored suit made of raw silk, with Mrs. Potter pinning it here and there in the back, adjusting the fit so it would be perfectly tailored. Evelyn had disappeared to another part of the store, but had soon returned with many compliments on the suit, along with a very small, very slinky nightgown that she tossed in Margaret's direction.

"That," she had said with a grin, "will make his eyes fall out of his head." Margaret had started to blush, but it quickly turned into a wicked little smile. That idea was suddenly very appealing. 

Mrs. Potter was actually the one who had started the whole thing.   
  
The two sisters had been standing in front of the mirror, admiring their final choices, and discussing how soon the alterations could be done, when Mrs. Potter, while putting up Margaret's hair for something like the seventh time, said, "You really should think about one of the new styles. You could cut your hair to about here--" she drew a straight line with her index finger, just below Margaret's shoulder, "It would look great on you. So chic, and so easy to care for."   
  
Margaret stared at her reflection. She had worn her hair like this since she had been about fourteen years old, and had never thought to change it. It HAD always been a nuisance, as long as she could remember. "I look like a schoolteacher," she said out loud, in the voice of someone who has just had an epiphany.   
  
"And I look like a librarian." Evelyn was eyeing her own reflection critically.   
  
A long lock of hair had come down from the knot at her neck, and dangled in front of her face. Margaret blew it away, and said with a laugh, "An untidy schoolteacher. But cutting it, I just don't know…" Unbidden, the image of Ardeth caressing a strand of her hair came into her mind. He had loved her hair. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the luxury of this memory for just a moment. Then she released it, and opened her eyes.   
  
"I'll do it."   
  
And she had. The delighted Mrs. Potter had made the arrangements for them, and it had been the work of mere moments to persuade Evelyn to get her hair done as well. Strangely enough, Evelyn had been the more nervous of the two about the whole thing. But she looked wonderful, Margaret thought. Her brown hair, shorn of much of its length, sprang up into soft curls around her face. And Margaret felt as if a great weight were lifted from her own head, in more ways than one. She couldn't take her eyes off her reflection. Without the weight of nearly hip-length hair, the locks that remained showed a hint of a wave, and lay sleek and shiny on her shoulders. Jonathan, she was sure, would like it.   
  
  
Jonathan had liked it very much indeed. He was the only one at home when they had gotten there; they found him in the library. When he saw them he stood speechless, goggling at them. Once he had gotten a grip on himself he had immediately gone to Margaret.

"Darling Meg. You look lovely," he said, obviously meaning it. His hands went to her hair, combing through the dark blonde locks, before he grabbed her and gave her a comic opera kiss, bending her over backwards. 

Evelyn put her hands on her hips and said, "Humph." 

Jonathan glanced up. "Oh, you look quite nice, too."   
  
While they were still laughing they had heard the front door slam and loud footsteps in the hall.   
  
"There's Rick." Evelyn quickly patted her hair and went out to meet him, leaving Jonathan and Margaret alone in the library, with Jonathan running his fingers through Margaret's hair as if he couldn't get enough of it. He was completely ruining the careful style the hairdresser had made, but Margaret found that that she didn't care in the least.  
  
"What the hell have you done?!" Margaret and Jonathan heard Rick's bellow in the library. Jonathan had immediately gone to the door to watch. With a wicked grin, he beckoned Margaret to join him. Rick was staring at Evelyn open-mouthed, pointing an accusing finger at her.   
  
"I've had it cut." She seemed a little miffed at his reaction. "Obviously. Don't you like it?"   
  
"I hate it!"   
  
"Why…Why…" Evelyn sputtered at him.   
  
"I can't believe you did that! Without even asking! You look too young! I don't even recognize you! Why would you…?"   
  
Her eyes widened. "Too… too what?" she asked.   
  
"You've always had long hair!"   
  
"Did you say too young?"   
  
"I liked your hair long!"   
  
"How young do I look?"   
  
At this, Rick had thrown up his hands and stomped off toward the back of the house. Evelyn, whom they would have expected to be rather upset at this whole exchange, actually had a look of supreme satisfaction on her face. She walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall and looked at her reflection for a few moments, turning her head this way and that, fluffing her hair. Finally, with a wide smile and a toss of her head, she turned toward the library.   
  
Margaret and Jonathan scurried in alarm to the sofa, and put on their best innocent faces as Evelyn poked her head in.   
  
Jonathan spoke up, trying to keep a straight face. "So, did he like it?"   
  
"No," Evelyn said with a giggle, "he hated it."   
  
"Don't you mind?" Margaret asked.   
  
"Oh, he'll come around. You know men, they hate change. I expect by tomorrow he'll have forgotten I ever had long hair. Dinner in half an hour." With that, she breezed off.

  
Dinner was a strange affair. Margaret had half-expected Rick to stay away to brood, but he was there, apparently spoiling for a fight.   
  
As he sat down, he looked pointedly at Margaret and snapped, "So, she talked you into shaving your head, too, huh?"   
  
Margaret attempted to stammer out something, before Evelyn said, "Now, don't you badger Margaret! She looks just beautiful." Evelyn gave her an encouraging smile.   
  
"That she does," Jonathan chimed in.   
  
Margaret looked down and muttered, "Thank you," into her plate.   
  
At that moment Alex came in as if launched from a catapult and hurled himself into his chair. Catching sight of Evelyn's new hair style, and completely oblivious to the mood in the room, he chirped, "Wow, Mother, that's a whizzer of a haircut!"   
  
Evelyn leaned to him and stroked his cheek, saying, "Thank you, darling. I'm so glad YOU like it," she added, giving Rick a sideways glance.   
  
"Oh, yes! You don't look nearly as old as you used to. Potatoes, please." Jonathan did his best to cover his laugh with a cough.  
  
"Don't you have something else to do?" Rick said sharply to his son.   
  
Alex was all astonishment. "I haven't eaten yet!" he exclaimed.   
  
Evelyn patted his hand and said, "Why don't you take your plate down to the sitting room and listen to the radio. Tell Mrs. Epps I said it was all right."   
  
"Whizzer!" he shouted, loading his plate up with as much as he could carry. Then he was off as quickly as he had come in.   
  
Complete silence reigned for several minutes. Margaret was hideously uncomfortable. She didn't have the nerve to tell Rick it had been all her idea. He'd probably ship her back to Cairo. Margaret glanced over to Rick, who was shoveling in food with a murderous expression on his face, his eyes glued to his plate. She was beginning to worry. Why was he this upset over a haircut? Well, two haircuts, really. But still…  
  
Her concern must have shown on her face, because she felt a light kick on her foot under the table. Looking across, she saw Jonathan looking at her. He flashed her a quick smile and a wink, rolling his eyes towards Rick with an exaggerated face. She smiled back, gratified that Jonathan hadn't reacted the way Rick had. She didn't know what she would have done if he had been angry with her for cutting her hair. She knew she wouldn't have been able to handle it as well as Evelyn did.   
  
She looked over to Evelyn, who was studying her husband at the other end of the table with an amused look on her face. She ate as if nothing were wrong, and her husband acted like this every day of the week.   
  
"So, Margaret," she said, breaking the silence at last. "We found you a lovely dress today. What else do we have left to do before Saturday? Mrs. Epps can handle the food; we don't have that many people coming. Flowers?"   
  
Margaret tried to laugh, but it came out as a nervous giggle. "I think there are enough flowers already," she said, with a slight blush and look across the table to Jonathan, who assumed an innocent expression.   
  
Evelyn's laugh was much easier. "Quite right," she said, sipping at her wine. "What do you think, Rick?" she asked, making an attempt to draw him into conversation. "Is there anything else you can think of that we need to do?"   
  
Rick assumed an expression of sarcastic surprise. "Oh, so now I'm being consulted? You want to know what I think BEFORE you do something? What a surprise. I thought no one did that anymore. I thought people around here just did what they wanted to, without asking for anyone else's opinion."   
  
Margaret's eyes dropped back to her plate. This was going to be a long night. 

  
"Now, Rick, that is positively enough. I don't make this kind of fuss when you get your hair cut, do I?"   
  
"That is completely different and you know it."   
  
"And anyway, what do want me to do about it? I can't put it back."   
  
"You could have at least…"   
  
Jonathan caught Margaret's eye and motioned to the door with his head. She nodded slightly, and they both got up and made their exit, unnoticed by Rick or Evelyn. As soon as they had closed the door, Margaret let her breath out.   
  
"Best to leave the field to the combatants, don't you think?" Jonathan said. "Let's go scrounge something in the kitchen."   
  
Rick had been…well, he had been like a bear with a sore paw for the rest of the evening.   
Evelyn was blissfully unaware of Rick's bad mood, or else she simply chose to ignore it; she was too pleased with her new, younger, look. She and Margaret sat together by the fire, knitting and mending, while Jonathan played solitaire and practiced card tricks. Rick stalked around, in and out of the room, as if to show them all that he was still mad. Occasionally, he would poke fiercely and uselessly at the fire.   
  
Finally, Evelyn stretched and put her mending away. "Well, I'm off to bed. Goodnight all." Margaret and Jonathan both told her goodnight; Rick just sat on the sofa with his legs stuck straight out in front of him, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. Evelyn turned at the door and said to him, "Coming up?" in a sweet voice.   
  
Rick just gave a grunt and stayed where he was. Evelyn only smiled and left, closing the door behind her. Rick's attitude did not change for several minutes, then, abruptly, he jumped up off the sofa and strode after her, muttering " 'Night" to them as he went. They could hear his footsteps thudding deliberately up the stairs. Margaret and Jonathan gaped at each other for a moment before they both burst into raucous laughter. 

  
When Margaret had gone up to bed that night, she heard voices as she passed Rick and Evelyn's room; they had left the door ajar. She certainly wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but, though their voices were low, they were perfectly audible.   
  
Rick was saying, in a rather plaintive voice,"…and I know that. But now you won't be able to do that thing you always used to do with your hair."   
  
Evelyn's voice floated out, low and soothing. "I'll still be able to do that. I promise." Then the voices got too low to hear. Margaret clapped her hands to her mouth to stifle her giggle. She made her way as quickly and as silently as she could to her own room.   
  
Margaret sat at her dressing table for a long time that night, combing and playing with her hair. It really did look much better this way. Her mind drifted back, to the memory of tattooed hands stroking her long hair. To her delight, that slightly fuzzy memory was quickly replaced with a clearer one, of very different hands running themselves through her now shoulder-length, suddenly wavy hair. She smiled. Ardeth would hate her hair, she reflected with certainty. But, she thought, running her comb through it one more time, Jonathan loved it.   
  
***

To be continued…  



	6. Part Five-- The Rotter and the Governess

Mmmm… This was the pleasantest part of falling asleep

"The Rotter and the Governess"

***

  
Sleep was a long time coming tonight. She smiled, and almost purred, as she rubbed her face against Jonathan's skin. She planted a quiet kiss on his collarbone. He sighed in his sleep, a small smile playing across his mouth as he held her a little tighter, but he didn't wake up. She was probably a bit wound up from all the champagne, and eating so late, and… and…making love with him for the first time. Was it only a little while ago? Margaret sighed with pleasure. Of course, tonight had almost NOT been the first time they made love. The first time had almost been that night in the library. If Evelyn hadn't come in…   
  
***  


It was the day after the Great Hair Debacle. Rick sat down beside Margaret at breakfast and gave her a very handsome apology for his behavior the night before. She still didn't tell him that the haircutting had been her idea, though. He seemed to have gotten over his tantrum, but she didn't want to push it. Better to wait a while, when this would all be just a funny story.   
  
The day was filled with wedding business. They had only planned to ask a few people, but the whole thing seemed to be growing out of control. People had guests who had to be invited, old schoolchums had turned up out of the blue, people they hadn't intended to invite had heard about it from those who were invited, and so had to be invited in turn. Margaret was a nervous wreck. Even dinner was filled with talk about people she never heard of. Evelyn must have noticed how frantic Margaret was getting, because after dinner, she shooed Margaret off to relax. "I'll deal with all this. You take a rest. The wedding's coming up soon now, and I don't want you looking all wild-eyed on the day."   
  
Margaret had gone gratefully. She went to the empty library and flopped onto the large sofa before the fire. She put her arm over her eyes and tried to take a little nap, but sleep did not come. Instead, her mind started racing as she replayed every crisis, major and minor, from the last two weeks. She tried to think about something else, anything else, but before she could stop herself, the tears started pouring from her eyes. She didn't sob or wail; she just lay there crying quietly, her tears running down her cheeks and into her hair.   
  
She didn't know how long she had been there, but suddenly she felt a light touch on her arm, making her jump and she let out a little squeak.   
  
"Darling Meg." Jonathan. She moved her arm from her eyes and looked up at him wetly. He perched beside her on the edge of the couch. "Been a bit much for you, hasn't it?"   
  
She swiped at her tear-stained face. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm being stupid. I'm just feeling overwhelmed at the moment."   
  
"And no wonder." He smiled gently at her. "What do you say, shall we just run off and elope? It would save any amount of bother."   
  
"Oh, no! Evy has really gone to so much trouble, that would be a terrible thing to do." Margaret sighed. "I think she's looking forward to this more than I am."   
  
"Hey!" Jonathan tried to look offended.  
  
She swatted at his leg. "Oh, stop it. You know I didn't mean that. I mean all this fuss and bother and party-planning. I had no idea getting a wedding together was such a monstrous undertaking."   
  
"Oh, yeah. Deploying an infantry brigade is nothing to it."   
  
She was smiling up at him now, as he wiped the traces of tears from her cheeks. He bent his head to lightly touch her lips with his in a soft, sweet kiss. Somehow one kiss led to another, until he was nibbling at her lips in a most intoxicating way. Her hands came up to lock at the back of his neck.   
  
With a sigh, she parted her lips beneath his, inviting him in. As his tongue responded, his hand slipped down from where it had been resting at her waist to stroke slowly over her hip and back up again, the movement pulling her skirt up just a little. When she felt his warm hand slide up to cup her breast, she couldn't help but arch her back and gasp into his mouth. Then both his hands were on her breasts, teasing and caressing, while his mouth and tongue became more frantic. Margaret's mind began to reel.   
  
Jonathan slowly moved his head down to her throat, then down even further to the top button of her blouse. His breath felt hot on her skin. Margaret's hands had become restless, stroking his neck, running through his hair, over his shoulders. She threw her head back and gave a low moan at the touch of his hand at the hem of her skirt, snaking underneath to crawl up her leg. He fumbled at her blouse, struggling to unbutton it with one hand, while his mouth explored the skin he uncovered with each conquered button.   
  
A soft footfall outside the door was the only warning they had. Jonathan managed to sit up as the door opened and Evelyn put her head in. Margaret could only lie there, hidden by the tall sofa back, torn between amusement and horror. Her first instinct was to try to button her blouse, but she had to abandon that idea to clap her hands over her mouth to stifle an insane giggle.   
  
"Oh, Jonathan, there you are. Have you seen Margaret? She was rather done in earlier, and I sent her off. I thought she might be in here."   
  
"Er…um…no…I haven't. Seen her, that is. Well, of course, I've seen her, but not lately." He stopped to clear his throat. "Perhaps she went to bed," he suggested.   
  
There was a long pause. "Yes. Well. Perhaps she did. I'm off to bed as well, now. Goodnight, Jonathan."   
  
"G'night," Jonathan said with a small wave. Margaret heard the library door close firmly.   
  
They both erupted into giggles. Jonathan buried his face in Margaret's neck. "Oh, darling Meg, you don't know how close a call you just had. Evy has definitely been your savior." He sat up to gaze down at her merrily. 

She sat up too. "Maybe I didn't want to be saved." Her voice was light as she spoke, but she realized that she meant what she was saying. Her blouse was still partially open, and her head was still spinning. Her skin still felt warm from where he had touched and kissed her. He made to say something, but she placed her finger over his lips. "If you asked me, I wouldn't say no," she whispered.   
  
The merriment vanished from his eyes. Very deliberately, he reached for her blouse and refastened it. "Well, I'd better not ask you then." 

Margaret stared at him, confused. He'd seemed willing enough before. What had happened? "You don't want to?" she asked, her voice very small.

Jonathan laughed, but if a laugh could have a serious quality, this one did. He reached out and stroked her slightly mussed hair, smoothing it back into place. "Silly, insane girl. It's not a question of wanting. It's…" He sighed, looking down for a moment. "I botched up asking you to marry me, completely and totally. I did," he insisted, interrupting her protest. "And I was lucky enough to get another chance at it. But this…" He took her hands, twining their fingers together and holding on tightly. "The first time that we…well. We won't get another chance at that if we botch it up. It should be better than this: on the sofa, hurried and with you half-crying."

Margaret swiped at her tears a little defensively. But she considered his words, and then nodded with a small smile.  
  
"And besides," he continued more playfully, touching his forehead to hers, "what would we do on our wedding night, then? Play cards?"   
  
He stood up abruptly and reached out a hand to help Margaret to her feet. He kissed her once again, a more controlled kiss, but one that was still slightly dizzying. Then he pushed her away and gave her a little shove toward the door, saying with a laugh. "Now go on up to bed, or you'll make a liar out of me."   
  
She paused at the door to blow him a kiss, then walked slowly up to her room, reflecting on the man who was so soon to be her husband.

***

Margaret had been more than a little frustrated when she had gone to bed that night. Jonathan was always so light-hearted and playful, she had never really considered exactly how passionate he could be. But now, she realized he had been right. Tonight had been well worth the wait. 

***  
  
  
It was supposed to be just a quiet little affair, with a few friends and a couple of neighbors that one simply had to invite. Where had all those people come from? Margaret was so used to staying quietly at home; she knew almost none of them. She felt a small nagging feeling, that slowly grew into a sense of panic as she walked toward the front of the room. She tightened her grip on Rick's arm, making him squirm and say under his breath, "Relax, they aren't going to eat you."   
  
Her steps had unconsciously slowed, until finally Rick was actually pulling her down the aisle that had opened in the crowd. "Come on, Meg, the vicar has another appointment in six hours," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.   
  
"We're supposed to walk slowly," she hissed back at him.   
  
"Not this slowly." He had given her another tug that had nearly overbalanced her. She shot him an annoyed look, but she walked a little faster, trying to swallow her anxiety. Then she had seen Jonathan, looking at her like she was the only person in the room and beaming with joy. Everything was lovely after that, though rather hazy. They had exchanged vows and rings, and just like that, they were married.   
  
Jonathan must have sensed her uneasiness around all these strangers. He had kept his arm around her, steering her through the crowd of well-wishers, saying clever things, chatting with everyone so all she had to do was smile and nod. She hadn't even noticed how he was managing to work his way toward the outside of the crowd. They found themselves with a little breathing space near one of the doors, and Jonathan handed her a glass of champagne, which he produced as if from thin air. She drank it gratefully.   
  
Jonathan leaned his head close to hers and whispered conspiratorially, "Darling Meg, what do you say…" he paused to smile and raise his glass to somebody, "…we sneak out of here? We've done what we came to do, after all. And you obviously don't know anybody here, and I'm not interested in anybody here." His eyes grew suddenly serious. "Except you. Oh, Meg…" he said in a voice almost too low to hear.   
  
"Could we?" Margaret asked hopefully. But then her brow furrowed. "But we can't. We're the stars of the show, aren't we?"   
  
"Oh, no, no, no. You've got it all wrong, I'm afraid. We were the stars, during the five minutes of the actual ceremony. But now," he polished off his champagne, "everyone just wants to eat and drink, look at what everyone else is wearing, and ask each other how a rotter like Jonathan Carnahan could have convinced such a lovely young woman to actually marry him." He pulled such a variety of faces during this little speech that she couldn't help but laugh.   
  
She countered with a smile, "What they are probably asking themselves is why on earth such a charming and eligible bachelor as Jonathan Carnahan would want to go and marry the governess."   
  
He laughed out loud, then looked around quickly to see if anyone was noticing them. No one was. "Well, then, what do you say the rotter and the governess go have a little party of their own?"   
  
He led them out of the room and to the back stairs. She wondered why they were going this way until he reached into a small cupboard and pulled out a picnic hamper. "So, you had this all planned out beforehand?" she asked him, her eyebrows raised.   
  
"What, this? No, no, I've just been meaning to see what was in this cupboard. And what do you know? Look what I found."   
  
"Remarkably convenient."   
  
"Yes, isn't it? Come on, let's go."   
  
  
They had made their way up to their rooms, the scent of roses hitting them before they had even opened the door. Inside was a wonderland of roses, left over from Jonathan's proposal. Some of them were beginning to droop and fade, but the overall effect was of springtime in the garden. The décor only added to the effect, all green and cream, cozy and inviting. Rick and Evy had had these several rooms made over into a sort of suite, as a wedding present. Margaret smiled as she remembered their first almost-argument, over where they would live; each of them thinking the other wanted to find a house of their own, and each really wanting to stay right where they were, with their family.   
  
Someone had apparently considered the possibility that they would escape from the party downstairs, for there was already a fire burning in the fireplace. Although it was spring, the nights were still quite cool. Margaret walked to the mantel to straighten a couple of roses, and when she turned back around, there he was. They said nothing, but her arms snaked around his shoulders, his around her waist. Their lips met, warm and soft, tasting the newness of being husband and wife. Margaret felt her heart speed up as their lips parted, and his tongue flicked lightly in and out of her mouth. She tightened her grip on his neck, and felt him press her into him.   
  
Their kiss slowly came to its natural end, and they just stood there for a moment, holding each other. Jonathan reached up to stroke a strand of her hair, smiling. "Mrs. Carnahan?"   
  
Margaret closed her eyes, savoring the sound of her new name. When she opened them again, she said, "Yes, Mr. Carnahan?"   
  
He sighed. "Have I told you today that I love you?"   
  
Margaret pursed her lips and looked to the ceiling. "Hmm…Not since breakfast, I believe."   
  
"Unforgivable omission on my part." He kissed her forehead. "I love you." Then her nose. "I love you." Left cheek. "I love you." Right cheek. "I love you." He started moving down from her chin to her neck, punctuating every kiss with an "I love you." 

When he began to unbutton her suit jacket, she jumped. "Oh! Wait a minute!"   
  
"What? Was that last one not right? Here, let me try it again." He leaned in to nuzzle her neck.   
  
"Mmmmm…" She struggled to remember what she was going to say. "It's just that Evy has given me…um…a…a…" She'd never remember at this rate, his lips on her throat made it almost impossible to think straight. "A nightgown!" That was it. "It's quite lovely, please let me go put it on."   
  
He chuckled into her neck, kissing her there once more before he let her go. "Very well. As if you need slinky lingerie to seduce me, you temptress."   
  
She laughed. "You idiot. Temptress, indeed," she said before running to her dressing room. She found that Evelyn had laid all of her things: her brush and comb, her little bit of makeup, her one bottle of perfume, neatly out on her dressing table. The new nightgown was on the bench. She undressed quickly, smiling at the Scottish air she could hear Jonathan whistling from his own dressing room through the not-quite-closed door.   
  
She put on her new nightgown and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Quite low-cut and snug, she had to admit that it flattered her. It was rather short, though. Nervously she smoothed it down over her hips one last time before taking a deep breath and making her entrance.   
  
Jonathan had changed too; a dark dressing gown was tightly belted around his waist, and she could see the cuffs of silk pajama bottoms underneath. His back was to her, unpacking the hamper, as she walked back out to the sitting room. She stood awkwardly in the doorway, not knowing if she should call his name, or cough, or what. Before she had decided what to do, he turned and saw her. His reaction was what she would always think of as gratifyingly astonished. He stood stock still, his eyes raking up and down her body in a way that should have made her a bit nervous, but actually only made her slightly dizzy with anticipation. Strange how just his gaze could make her palms sweat and her heart speed up.   
  
He closed the distance between them, until he was close enough to touch her. But for a few moments he did nothing, he simply looked at her. Then he did touch her, laying his hands lightly at her waist, then running them up and down her sides, gliding easily over the slippery fabric. But he didn't make a move to embrace her or kiss her, which worried her a little.   
  
"I won't break, you know," she said with a small smile. "I'm not made of porcelain."   
  
He gave her an answering smile. "It's not that, love. It's just that I seem to be torn between wanting to touch you and wanting to look at you."   
  
"Sounds like quite a dilemma. How do you plan to resolve it?"   
  
"Do you know, I think I'm going to have to go with touching at the moment…" He pulled her close to capture her mouth softly with his, nibbling at her lips. His hands stroked lightly up and down her arms, his touch feeling ticklish, and yet so much more than ticklish. She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tightly, as his hands and his kisses made her head spin and her knees feel a little weak.   
  
Then his mouth was on her neck, and his hands were at her waist again, sliding down over her hips, coming to rest on her lower back, pulling her closer. He licked his way down her throat, and across her shoulder to the strap of the short nightgown. Then he followed it down, his tongue tracing the neckline across the swell of her breasts, leaving a hot, wet trail. Her head fell back with a moan and she fought to keep her balance. He lingered between her breasts, tasting the skin there.

  
She thought she couldn't stand it if he continued, then she thought she couldn't stand it if he stopped. When he did stop, he stood up straight again, looked at her for a moment, and then took her mouth with a ferocity and a heat that he'd never displayed before. Their bodies pressed together firmly; she could feel his passion growing, and could feel an answering warmth in her own body, along with a corresponding dizziness in her head. She had only had the one glass of champagne, hadn't she?   
  
He muttered into her mouth, "I was going to suggest having a bite to eat, but…"   
  
She shook her head frantically. "I'm not really very hungry right now…" she answered, hardly able to get the words out.  
  
They stumbled into the bedroom, still kissing and holding each other, their hands exploring madly. She began untying his robe, while he lifted the hem of her nightgown. She chuckled then, lifting her arms obediently to help him pull it off. "So much for my new gown. I've worn it for less than ten minutes, I'd say."   
  
"I would be very surprised," he tossed the nightgown on the floor, "if you ever wear it for more than ten minutes at a time." Their clothes in a pile, they tumbled onto the bed.   
  
She found with delight that their lovemaking alternated between giddy playfulness and smoldering passion. One moment he would be rolling them both around the bed, kissing her and laughing and paying her outlandish compliments; the next moment, his eyes would become dark and earnest, his hands more insistent, his mouth and his body more demanding. She began to learn how to meet his body with hers, how to match his rhythm. She discovered that running her fingernails gently up his back made him shiver and chuckle at the same time, and that sucking on his fingers caused him to close his eyes and gasp.   
  
His hands and his mouth played expertly over her body, bringing her to the brink several times before purposely stopping, making her laugh and groan with frustration. When he finally gave her what she needed, her release hit her so hard she could only arch her back and throw her head back, her mouth open in a silent scream. And then the passion took over completely, as they held on tight, breathing quickly, their hearts pounding, welcoming together with a moan the waves of pleasure that swept over them.   
  
After a long while of lying tangled up together, they began to come back to earth, realizing that they had somehow gotten turned upside-down and crossways on the bed. Jonathan buried his face in her neck, mumbling things against her skin like, "lovely, darling Meg…sweet delightful Meg," alternating the words with kisses until she couldn't help but giggle breathlessly.   
  
He lifted himself up to hold his weight on his elbows and gazed down at her. She whispered "Darling Jonathan," and twined her fingers around his neck, pulling him down for a lazy kiss. Then she grinned up at him. "You know, I think I've changed my mind about what I said before…"   
  
His eyebrows rose up his forehead as he said, "Really? Which thing would that be? I hope not the 'I do' part. Or the 'I love you, Jonathan' part. Or the 'Jonathan, you are a god' part."   
  
"No. I meant all those things. It was the 'I'm not hungry' part. Do you think that the food in that hamper…?"   
  
He was up and into the sitting room before she'd gotten the words out of her mouth. She rolled over and propped her chin on her hand to watch him. "Wait a minute," she called out. "I don't remember saying that one about the god. It's absolutely true, of course, but I don't remember saying it."   
  
His voice came from the other room. "Oh, I distinctly remember hearing you say it. It was right when…" His voice trailed off and became indistinct. 

"What was that?"

He was soon back with the hamper. "Shhh," he said with a grin, popping a strawberry into her mouth before she could say another word. "Time to eat."

They ate naked on the bed, her only concession to modesty being to wrap the sheet around her chest and tuck it under her arms. Together they explored the contents of the basket. Evelyn had packed all sorts of delicious things: cold chicken and bread, grapes and strawberries, as well as a bottle of chilled champagne and glasses. They ate and giggled and talked well into the night, drinking glass after glass of champagne, until Jonathan took her glass away, saying, "Now, now. You don't want to follow up your very first night of marriage with your very first hangover, do you?"   
  
Then he had shoved everything off the bed and pressed her back down. Her sheet was thrown off, and they had made love once again, this time with the added bonus, on Margaret's part, of a head full of champagne.   
  
Finally, exhausted and happy, they had snuggled up together cozily. Margaret could feel Jonathan's arm grow heavy on her waist, and soon his breathing became deep and regular. Mmmm… This was the pleasantest part of falling asleep. That strange, foggy, fairyland where one wasn't sure if things were dreams or not... 

The End.


End file.
